


Breaking Point

by InALessLethalDress



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst and Feels, Defining the Relationship, Drama & Romance, F/M, I promise, Non-Consensual Spanking, Not Canon Compliant, Shameless Smut, Slight Possessive and Dominant Behaviour, but thoroughly enjoyed nonetheless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InALessLethalDress/pseuds/InALessLethalDress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Inspector Jack Robinson has some straight talking to do with the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Detective Inspector Robinson Reaches His Limit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucyschroeder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucyschroeder/gifts), [awomanalone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awomanalone/gifts), [bygone_age](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bygone_age/gifts), [ZenobiaatBlithedale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenobiaatBlithedale/gifts), [CitySouthNorth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitySouthNorth/gifts).



> Contains what could be construed as Dubious Consent scenes; however, this story is NOT a rape fic or even mildly dubious consent. It is a power play between two passionate, frustrated equals, each trying not to let the other know their true feelings.

 

**In Which Detective Inspector Robinson Reaches His Limit**

* * *

 

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was a desperate man. Reserve and control being hard-won overriding qualities of his, his deeply buried true feelings were betrayed only by the merest quivering of his fingers, the intensity of his stare, and the occasional clenching of his jaw. Over the previous months, he had suffered innumerable provocative glances, tantalizing scents and rustling silks, defiance and interference, disobedience and an endless parade of other men invited casually to the bed of  _his_  woman.

 He had been subjected to hair-raising, gut-clenching terror on her behalf more times than he cared to recall, and the number of occasions that he had come perilously close to locking her in a jail cell overnight, just so that he wouldn't wake in a cold sweat wondering what outrageous exploit she was currently in the middle of, made him fear for his sanity.

 But  _this_ , this latest act of outright, deliberate audacity, was one step too far. Never mind that she was, for the first time in their association, giving him exactly what he had said he wanted. That in itself was enough for him to know that this manoeuvre was calculated precisely to goad him. Usually that knowledge would help him to remain calm and not rise to her bait, no matter what it cost him in terms of soaring blood pressure, contenting himself instead with the satisfaction of having thwarted her. God knows, it was a rare enough occurrence.

 Leaning against the railings opposite her home, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, he surveyed the comings and goings of her household from beneath the lowered brim of his fedora. Three weeks had passed since she had rebelliously tossed her goodbye - 'sayonara' - at him, and he had not laid eyes on her during the interminable days that followed. The Honourable Phryne Fisher had removed her maddening presence from his orbit as surely as if she had never been in it, and he had only the memory of wickedly dancing green eyes and a curious hollow sensation in his gut as proof that she had ever existed.

 According to Hugh Collins, via Dot, Miss Fisher was only taking those cases in which she could be sure a certain Inspector would not become involved. She had even had the unmitigated  _gall_  to offer her services to another police borough, and was currently cutting a swathe through the hearts of the City North constabulary. When he had heard that, his fingers had tightened so convulsively on the chair back he had been leaning on that it had creaked in protest under the strain. The feelings of betrayal, rabid jealousy and white hot rage had blindsided him so completely that he had to lock his muscles into place for fear that he would hunt her down and wring her beautiful neck.

 Suddenly straightening, he strolled nonchalantly through the garden and up to her open kitchen door. It was time to have it out with Miss Phryne Fisher, once and for all, or say goodbye to his ability to focus on his job for good. Mr. Butler was preparing dinner, Cec and Bert propping up one wall drinking tea, Dot and Hugh seated together at the table. Their affectionate banter broke off as they became aware of his presence, and an uneasy silence settled over the room.

 Removing his hat, he nodded silently to them, and moved towards the door into the dining room. Dot bravely blocked his way, her doe eyes liquid with apprehension. "I'm sorry, Inspector. You can't go in there." Her soft voice trembled slightly, but her chin was determined. Under orders, then, from her adored mistress. Well, two could play at that game.

 "Collins, escort Miss Williams off the premises," he said mildly, the steel in his eyes as he flicked them towards his constable informing that unfortunate boy of the inadvisability of disobeying.

 "Uh..yes, sir," Hugh replied, edging closer to his girl, his hands held up in a placating manner . Dot stood her ground, shaking her head slightly in disbelief as Hugh took her arm. Cec and Bert tensed, the humour leaving their faces.

 At that moment, Phryne herself entered the kitchen, eyes bent to the piece of paper she was perusing, already speaking. "Dot, could you please bring me the-" the words died on her lips as she glanced up and took in the little tableau before her.

 A moment of breathless silence seized their witnesses as she and the Inspector faced each other. The charge that arced between them was almost visible, and Dot flushed in reaction. Cec and Bert exchanged sidelong, knowing glances, and Hugh's shocked eyes travelled back and forth between his superior officer and his friend. Only Mr. Butler remained impervious to the atmosphere in his domain, continuing to chop vegetables as if this were any ordinary day.

 Shock having held her immobile for a moment, Phryne recovered herself quickly, her chin coming up and her eyes glittering dangerously. "I thought I gave orders that the Inspector was to be refused admittance into my house?" she enquired softly of her retainers, her eyes never leaving Jack's.

 "Yes, Miss. The Inspector caught us unawares by entering through the kitchen door, which, as you know, is nearly always open." Mr. Butler seemed to be the only one capable of speech.

 "I see. Well, now that he is _in_  my house, I want him  _out_  of it. Cec, Bert, be so good as to see that the Inspector leaves immediately."

 Dot's shocked intake of breath shattered the frozen silence that greeted this command. Cec and Bert looked at each other, then at Jack, and finally at Phryne. Encountering the unmistakable determination in her fine eyes, they shrugged and reluctantly took a step towards the Inspector.

 Jack laid his hat carefully on the table, and eyed the two wharfies warily approaching him. "I wouldn't advise it, comrades," he said cheerfully. "Today is not the day to cross me."

 Bert grinned. "Sorry, Inspector. Lady's orders." They approached him slowly from either side, eyes watchful. Hugh, acting with unusual presence of mind, bent, swept Dot up into his arms, ignoring her squeak of surprise, and almost ran out of the kitchen door. Jack's eyebrows quirked. Perhaps that boy's detective intuition was rather more advanced than he'd thought.

 No doubt Bert and Cec had merely intended to escort the Inspector off the property without violence. They had reckoned without their target's pent up rage and frustration, which he was prevented in honor from visiting upon its cause. Her Red Ragger lackeys would do the job admirably, though. His smile as he braced himself was almost joyful with anticipation of doing violence to  _someone._

 Cec, being totally unprepared, went down almost immediately with a crashing right to his jaw, which stunned him sufficiently for Mr. Butler to tenderly and silently support him outside to the taxi and assist him into it.

 Mr. Butler returned in time to see his dinner preparation go flying, along with the kitchen table, as the Inspector wrestled with Bert. Locking his arms up and underneath Bert's armpits, rendering the furious cabby impotent, Jack marched him outside and threw him onto the pavement. Bert leapt up immediately, cursing, and took a hasty step towards his opponent. Jack held his gaze and merely shook his head slowly. Bert, no fool, read the distinctive message in that stare, and held his hands up in mock surrender.

 Jack waited to see Bert and Cec drive off, both grinning at him in high good humour and with more respect than had been their wont, before turning and re-entering the kitchen. Of Hugh and Dot there was no sign. Mr. Butler, righting the table, rose and looked enquiringly at the Inspector. Jack merely jerked his head at the door, not taking his eyes from Phryne, who was gripping the dresser tightly with white knuckled hands, her breath coming short and fast. Mr. Butler obediently moved towards the exit.

 "Mr. Butler, if you walk out that door now, you will not be coming back!" Phryne's voice had the slightest tinge of desperation in it, but her eyes were flashing and her cheeks were flushed with wrath.

 Her butler paused, and looked back at her with a great deal of affectionate understanding. "As you wish, Miss. I should be sorry to leave your service. Yet I believe I can safely leave you in the Inspector's...capable hands." And he left, shutting the door softly behind him.


	2. In Which Inspector Robinson Achieves An Ambition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *warning* non erotic spanking scene ahead. Avoid if it's not your thing.

 The two combatants left standing eyed each other. Jack felt his tension ratchet up a notch as Phryne, unconsciously or not, touched her tongue to her upper lip in nervousness. His eyes involuntarily tracked the movement, his muscles bunching as his body gathered beneath him instinctively. Exerting yet more super-human control over his rampant urge to crush that mouth under his, he snapped his eyes back to hers. And encountered the faintest gleam of mischievous triumph in the depths of her clear green eyes. That  **did**  it.

He took a slow step towards her, saying silkily, "And  _now_ , Miss Phryne Fisher,  _now_..." He was brought up short by the sight of her gold mounted .38 revolver leveled at him in a hand that trembled almost imperceptibly. He directed a glance of fierce disbelief at her. Her eyes were wide and panicked, her face pale and her lower lip gripped firmly between her teeth.

 "I don't need to tell you the trouble you're courting by pointing a weapon at an officer of the law, Miss Fisher," he said, his voice roughening with a reservoir of anger threatening to burst its bonds.

 "And _I_ shouldn't need to tell  _you_  that I  **will**  shoot you, Inspector, if you take so much as one more step!" she retorted. "You enter my house uninvited, offer violence to my household and foster disobedience in my servants, and all this despite my willingness to stay out of your life when you asked it of me? I should have had Cec and Bert _beat_  you for this day's work!"

 Jack hauled in a breath. "How often I have felt the same regarding you, Miss Fisher," he said with deceptive affability. "Although _I_  don't need anyone else to do my dirty work for me; the pleasure of subduing you will be mine alone." He finished on a note of implacability, his dark eyes spearing her to the spot.

 "How _dare_  you?" Phryne gasped in outrage, her fingers tightening on her pistol.

 "Once again you take the words out of my mouth, Miss Fisher." Jack replied coolly, shrugging out of his coat. "How dare  _you_? I have put up with your constant hounding, persistent interference with police investigations, withholding important evidence, leading my constable astray, your  _damnable_  recklessness, disobeying my orders, the endless parade of dubious men on a carousel ride in and out of your bed, and all this while feigning imperviousness to your - assets."

 Ignoring the infuriated noises she was making in response to his speech, he moved so swiftly that she hadn't time to react. His large right hand knocked the gun from her slackened grip, his left captured her gun hand and pinned it up behind her back, as he lunged forward with her into the hallway, twisting so that she was pinned between the wall and the cage of his body.

 Phryne recovered quickly, her right knee jerking upwards on instinct. He was ready for her, however, and managed to half dodge, half block the assault, and she found herself effectively immobile with her legs spread either side of his, perforce cradling his lean body rather intimately. His storm-colored eyes, molten with anger and lust, glared wildly down into hers, his breath hitching as they both became aware of their position. She thought she had forgotten how to blush, but felt the betraying crimson creep over her chest, neck and cheekbones. Jack watched its progress fixedly, his eyes darkening, until he raised them to her face and smiled in exultant vindication.

 She reacted reflexively to the blatant intent she read in his stern face. Her free left hand swung up and connected with his hard face with a satisfying _crack!_  and the full force of her arm. His head snapped to the side, his eyes closed, for a perilous moment before he oh - so - slowly turned his blazing gaze back to her. Her heart flipped; she had never seen Jack  _really_  furious before, and although she had long had the admirable goal of breaking through his civilized veneer of control to the passionate man she did not doubt lurked beneath, in that moment she owned privately to some qualms.

 "Jack, I-" she began defensively, before she was cut off with a gasp as he lifted her quite off her feet, tossed her over his shoulder and strode through to the sitting room, kicking the door closed behind him. She was deposited in a state of considerable disarray on the chaise, and as she struggled to right herself, disoriented from being so lately upside down, Jack was stripping himself efficiently of his jacket and waistcoat, casting them aside carelessly and setting his hands on his hips as he gazed musingly down at his torment.

 Phryne made it almost to her feet when she found herself bent over the back of the chaise with a strong hand in the small of her back. Her breath left her in a rush, she managed a choked, "Don't you  _dare_ , Jack Robinson-!" before her diatribe was interrupted by a hard, admonitory spank. Struggling madly, she kicked and scratched, using every Judo and self-defense move she could think of. All it availed her was being hauled over Jack's lap as he seated himself on the edge of the chaise, tipping her forward so that she had to brace her hands on the floor to prevent her face hitting it, her legs flailing uselessly in the air as he held her easily with one arm and went to work with a will with the other.

 "Do you have any idea how often I have wanted to do this?" Jack demanded, bringing his hand down hard on her exposed backside. "Every time you taunted me, defied me, put yourself in danger, flaunted yourself in front of me, walked away from me with other men..." Each accusation accompanied a stinging blow to her quivering flesh, and elicited some quite delicious sounds from her.

 Unable to struggle as she was, and completely at the mercy of a man who suddenly seemed to have none, Phryne was sobbing with mingled shock and mortified pride, but she had herself well in hand, her lower lip firmly clamped in her teeth as her mind grappled with ideas of retribution.

 "You have deliberately wound me tighter and tighter, no doubt for your own amusement and advantage, but I am not one of those men you can wrap around your little finger. You've only gone this long unpunished because  _I_  have allowed it, not due to any sway you imagine that you have over me." Jack continued, throwing up her skirts and spanking her directly on her French lingerie.

 "You- you -  _bastard_!" Phryne spat. "I'll never forgive you for this, Jack Robinson! I'll press charges for assault! I'll have you dismissed! I-"

 "Keep it up, Miss Fisher, and I'll make sure you don't sit down for a week!" he interrupted her ruthlessly, giving her one last smack with most of his strength behind it. She gave a strangled shriek, and he allowed her to tumble from his lap, rising to face her and trying to ignore how the sight of her, disheveled, red in the face and incandescent with rage, made his fingers twitch with the urge to pull her down to the floor then and there and bury himself in her to the hilt. He was already almost frantic with lust, and he had a few things to get straight with Miss Phryne Fisher before he released the iron control he had clamped over his desires.


	3. In Which The Proverbial Thin Ice Snaps

 

**In Which The Proverbial Thin Ice Snaps**

* * *

 

Making a valiant effort to gather the tatters of her dignity around her, difficult in view of the fact that her bottom was on fire and her mind was reeling from the realization that she had severely underestimated the danger in goading Inspector Robinson, Phryne confronted the source of her discomfiture with her hands gripping her skirts tightly.

 "Now that you have made your displeasure perfectly clear, Detective Inspector, perhaps you'd add to your goodness by removing yourself from my tainted presence, permanently." Her voice was quiet and strong, her face a polite mask, and her inner turmoil betrayed only by the quivering of her lips.

 "Don't be ridiculous!" Jack snapped. "Do you really think this interview is over? What do you imagine - that I'll walk out of your life without a backward glance?" His gaze sharpened as her eyes glistened suspiciously, and his voice softened in response. "I think the last three weeks have proved that we don't do well apart."

 Her eyes narrowed. "What on earth do you mean? I can assure you that the last three weeks have been par _tic_ ularly enjoyable for me!"

 He uttered a short laugh. "I think the lady doth protest too much! You forget that I  _know_  you, Phryne Fisher, as I know myself. And I also have Dot's reports of your misery to go on."

 Phryne bit her lip in vexation. Damn Dot and Hugh! Could they not keep their mouths shut just this once? "Dot is mistaken," she maintained doggedly. "I naturally regret not working with City South, but City North is a very agreeable station and has accepted my help eagerly, instead of grudgingly."

 "Yes?" Jack moved closer, invading her personal space as she had done so many times to him. "Are you telling me that you don't miss working with me? I thought we'd become friends, Phryne, if nothing else." His voice was deceptively soft, even tender, and his use of her first name at this moment was utterly deliberate.

 Sobs crowded her throat and she made a despairing effort to get rid of him before she broke down completely. Fixing her gaze on the floor, she said with all the firmness she could muster, "We were never friends, Jack. You were merely useful to me. And something of a challenge, I confess. However, I have my pride, and if someone is steadfast in maintaining that I am an unwanted nuisance then I bow out gracefully. Which," she said, her voice rising and casting him an accusatory look, "I don't understand  _why_  you won't let me do, considering that it was at your express desire!"

He was silent for a moment, staring down at her in exasperation. "You  ** _are_**  a nuisance." he said finally.

 She made a helpless gesture, immediately despising herself for it. "Well, there you are then. I'm only trying to accede to your wishes, Inspector, so you can go back to the pedestrian pace of solving cases you adhered to before I intruded on your life. No doubt the entire station's case closure rate will drop, but so long as you know that  _you're_  the one who is responsible -"

 This provocative speech ended abruptly. Not only was she roughly hauled into Jack's arms, but her mouth was crushed under his as he established his mastery over the kiss. Phryne would have gasped, but he swallowed the sound and immediately her lips were spread wide and his tongue plundered her mouth without restraint. His body gathered up beneath them as his face pressed down on hers, tongue thrusting deeply and punishing. It was hot, brutal, ** _filthy_**  and mind-blowing. Her head spun, her neck ached from the strain and the fires he was stoking inside her as he relentlessly ravaged her mouth convinced her that they would both be consumed.

 Finally, after one last sharp thrust downwards against her that made her whimper and her thighs quiver, he relinquished her mouth reluctantly and drew back enough to focus on her eyes. They were closed and she was panting with reaction, and he watched in dark vindication as she came back to herself. Her eyelids fluttered open and she wet her lips, but before she could start explaining away the passion they had just scratched the surface of, he laid his strong hand over her lips.

 "Give that mutinous, trouble-making mouth of yours a rest, love, or I'll find another use for it," he said roughly. Her eyes flickered, but she snapped her lips shut. He grinned down at her, ignoring the feverish pounding of his blood. "Obedience from  _you_ , Miss Fisher? I never thought I'd see the day! At least we know it's  _poss_ ible now."

 Her eyes flashed angrily, and she tensed in his arms. His grip tightened. "Oh no, you don't! If you think I'm going to let you go after that kiss, you've got another think coming. You didn't let me finish earlier. You  ** _are_**  a nuisance. A damn inconvenient, tempting, infuriating, astonishing, maddening thorn in my side, and you have been from the first moment we met! But," Jack continued, as his eyes travelled leisurely over her flushed face to the swell of her breasts and back before fastening on her swollen lips, " _but_ , Miss Fisher,  _never_  unwanted."

 "Then why…?" Phryne whispered, her eyes pleading. Instantly his own grew serious, and his jaw clenched with recollection.

 "I want you and I need you. Alive. I said I'd never ask you to change who you are, and I won't. But I mean to make  ** _damn_**  sure you think twice before endangering yourself in the future! You're mine, and I won't brook your disobedience. I can't do my job when I'm distracted worrying that you're doing something bloody stupid."

 Her heart stuttered at his words, but her independent spirit asserted itself. "I don't belong to  _any_  man, Jack. I thought you accepted me as I am!"

 "I do!" he growled. "It's why I want you, God help me, and it's why I haven't laid claim to you until now. But once I take you -" her sharp intake of breath made his eyes gleam dangerously down at her. "- oh yes, sweetheart. I'm not leaving this house until you can't stand upright - once I take you," he went on with deliberation, "things are going to have to change around here. You can carry on as you are, but if I see, or hear, of you driving so much as one mile an hour over the speed limit, I will not be responsible for the consequences. Am I clear?"

 "As a bell!" Phryne snapped. "But I defy you! Am  _I_  clear, Inspector Robinson? I recognize no one's authority to order my affairs or affect my decisions other than my own, and I live my life answerable to no one! I dance to no man's tune." She smiled, a wide, slow stretch of her scarlet lips. "Indeed, men usually dance to my tune!"

 "And that's another thing I would like to discuss," Jack continued, almost as if she hadn't spoken, one long fingered hand cupping the back of her neck and the other wrapped around her waist, holding her lower body flush against his. "The revolving door into your bedroom." His grip tightened unconsciously as his eyes lit with anger. "I don't share, Phryne." His tone was implacable.

 "If you think that I would be unfaithful to you -!" Phryne began hastily in outraged accents, before breaking off in consternation at her unguarded utterance, and forcing a nonchalant smirk onto her face. "Oh well, Jack. No promises there, I'm afraid. I take whomsoever I choose into my bed, whenever I choose. I'm not part of your goods and chattels. I'm not Rosie, after all, but a modern woman of independent means and liberal attitudes."

 Her betraying remark had not gone unnoticed by Jack, however, and though his eyes narrowed at her rebellion, his amused smile warmed his eyes. " ** _Must_**  you be so contrary? I don't know why you're still trying to defy me when I've felt you tremble in my arms and ** _know_**  you feel the same way about me as I do about you."

 "It's the principle of the matter," Phryne murmured, distracted by the achingly slow caress he was bestowing on her hip bone with his thumb. 

 Jack's eyes darkened. "Precisely." he stated.

 Gazing up into his expressive eyes, Phryne had only a split second's warning before he abruptly released his hold on her neck and waist, grasped her wrist instead firmly in one hand and strode with her towards the stairs. Stumbling in his wake, she resisted, more out of habit than desire, her insides fusing together as electricity lanced through her at his tacit intention.

 " **Damn**  you for a tease, Phryne Fisher!" he cursed her as she tugged at his hold. He swept a sharp glance down, bent, and once again Phryne found herself in a fireman's lift over his broad shoulder as he moved swiftly up the stairs. Between breathless desire, tears and laughter, Phryne beat at his back with her small fists, uttering dire imprecations.

 On the landing, Jack didn't hesitate, heading unerringly for her boudoir. Holding her in place with one hand placed brazenly and possessively on her bottom, he twisted the door open, entered and heeled it shut behind them as he tossed his seething burden onto her enormous, and, he noted dryly, decadently dressed bed.

 "You're a bloody Neanderthal, Jack Robinson!" Phryne exclaimed, putting a hand up to pull her dress back over one gleaming shoulder. "Where is the civilized policeman now?"

 He turned to her, twisting the key in the lock behind him with an ominous click. He noted her nervous swallow with an almost vicious pleasure. The experienced Miss Fisher all in a fluster? Good. He intended to fluster her to the point that she couldn't even  ** _think_**  of another man. And then he'd fluster her some more. 

 "I'm not here in my official capacity, Miss Fisher," he replied calmly, reaching up to unknot his tie and enjoying the way she looked rather like a rabbit in the headlights of her wretched motor car. "I'm here as a private, and deeply interested, citizen."

 Dropping his tie on the floor, his nimble fingers turned their attention to his shirt buttons, moving with tantalizing slowness from one to the next, all the while holding her transfixed gaze with his own. He dropped his veneer, and let her  ** _see_**  into him, see the raging inferno of possessive lust she had created in him over the months, and how it was all the more dangerous for having been thwarted for so long.

 A hint of panic entered her face, and she scooted back on the silk coverlet, away from him. His eyes blazed and he stalked her slowly, allowing his shirt to fall with a sigh of cotton to the floor. Her eyes flickered over his lean, chiseled torso before she could stop herself, and when she managed to raise them to his face again a flush of pure desire had risen to tinge her cheekbones. She was shaking her head minutely, casting her eyes around the room for an escape route.

 "Afraid, Miss Fisher? I don't think I've ever seen you this discomposed. You mustn't think I don't sympathize, but if you go through your days deliberately firing up a man like me, you must be prepared to take the consequences."

 Defiant to the last, Phryne stuck her tongue out at him. "A man like you? And what exactly is that like, Inspector?" she enquired cheekily.

 "You're about to find out, my girl." he answered grimly, his hands going purposefully to his belt buckle.


	4. In Which Self-Control Is Severely Tested

 

**In Which Self-Control Is Severely Tested**

* * *

 

  
_This will never do_ , thought Phryne. Detective Inspector Robinson had had things far too much his own way since he had first set foot through her door that day. Being a just woman, she admitted  _(privately)_ that she had done everything within her considerable powers of provocation to bring matters between them to a head, and his drastic reaction to her absence from his side could not but flatter her. That he was a dangerous man to exasperate she had known from their first meeting, but he had always allowed her such licence that she had fallen into the habit of presuming his chivalry and control would forever prevent him from wreaking the commensurate vengeance upon her person.

 She had almost despaired of ever bringing him to heel, until he had gifted her the opportunity of letting him fully realize, and finally acknowledge to himself, just what he was missing. It had taken considerable effort of will on her part to remain aloof for the three weeks it had taken for him to snap, faced with dull, grey days not able to match wits with him, revel in his intelligence and enjoy the occasional staring contest to see who would go up in flames from sexual tension first. Just how much she had missed him had shaken Phryne to her core; she had known that Jack was not like other men, that her feelings for him were new, unique and terrifying in their intensity, but she had deliberately not examined the state of her heart too closely, blithely assuming that once they'd indulged and exhausted their mutual passion they could return to the status quo.

 The blinding revelation that she didn't want merely a passing dalliance with Jack had knocked her for six. He was not simply a charming and civilized colleague, and an attractive -  _really, quite uncomfortably attractive_  - man. He had become, by insensible degrees, necessary to her comfort and peace of mind. The feeling of utter security in knowing that he always had her back in every scrape she thrust herself into, no matter what disapproving lecture she had to endure later, was the source of bright warmth she hugged to herself as she went about her days. The cozy evenings he spent in her parlor, bantering and talking about everything under the sun, were the highlight of her week. Even his lectures, born as they were from fear for her safety and what she frequently suspected to be the quite irrational fury of finding her perfectly unharmed when he had endured agonies of apprehension on her behalf, were becoming adorable to her.

__

_**He**_  was adorable, and challenging, and intriguing, and addictive, and - _Really, Phryne Fisher!_  she berated herself mentally.  _You have a spine. Use it, woman! Or you'll melt into a puddle at his feet, and the game's not over yet._

 Her internal reverie had by no means distracted her from the six feet of angry golden male towering over her. Trying to calm the wild beating of her heart at the sight of Jack tugging his belt through his last belt loop and tossing it aside, she whisked herself off the bed and stood warily with it between them, poised for flight or fight. Just because she was gasping for him to lay hands on her again didn't mean he was going to have this encounter all his own way. He had to be taught that he couldn't make a habit of spanking her, though she would  ** _never_**  admit just how much she had exulted in the blatant carnality of that particular scene in her parlour. 

 A woman had her pride after all, and she wanted to establish right at the outset just who wore the trousers in this relationship. Up until today, though she had been surprised by the quiet but generally inflexible strength of will he manifested on occasion, she had experienced no doubts as to her ability to call the shots, albeit in a charming manner. But his actions this afternoon, the hard line of his jaw and the implacable determination in his mesmerizing eyes all gave her pause. 

 Phryne had never entered into a relationship that she couldn't direct and control, and leave as lightly and free of regret as she had entered into it. Not since Rene. Instinct warned her, however, that Jack was a very different proposition. She could not face the thought of a dissolution of their partnership, in any sense of the word, without terror and anguish ripping through her, leaving her horror-struck and shaking. So if they started something, it would have to be forever, or it would go down in flames, and she was not sure how much of Phryne Fisher would survive.

 Far better then, as he had indicated, to separate completely before they entered into a connection so vital it could cause untold damage to  ** _both_**  their souls. They had tried that, but it was too late, far too late. They were already inextricably woven into the fabric of each other's lives and to be apart was unbearable.

 "Jack, I think we need to settle a few things. I -"

 "No." The single word was low and forceful. Jack set his hands on his hips, staring the infuriating woman down.

 "But I just -"

****

" _No_ , Phryne!" he interrupted unceremoniously. He ran a hand through his hair impatiently. "Good God, woman, we've talked, and laughed, and flirted, and bickered, and danced around each other for quite long enough." He closed the distance between them in two long strides, catching her to him fiercely, closing his fingers gently about her throat and tilting her head back with his thumb so his smokey grey eyes ( _how_ ** _did_** _they seem to change color according to his mood?_  wondered Phryne hazily) could capture and hold her startled gaze. 

 He dragged her body closer, so that every inch of her was plastered to every inch of him, shifting so that she could feel his painfully hard length. Her eyes flew wide, the pupils growing and spreading as her lips parted in shocked reaction. Hot amusement flashed in his eyes and he slipped one hand down to cup her bottom, pressing her even more intimately against him, his breath hissing through his teeth as he felt the raging heat at her centre. Unable to resist, he moved once, twice, against her which produced a whimper, half of protest, half of sensation, from the back of her throat. He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

 "The time for talking is done." he grated with finality, sharing her breath. "We've reached the point of no return, Miss Fisher, and there'll be no talking yourself out of this one, no matter how hard you try. You can protest and prevaricate til you're blue in the face,  ** _but_** ," he shook her slightly to emphasize his point, "there's no escape for you."

 "I'm not  _trying_ to escape, Jack." Phryne protested with dignity. "I'm merely attempting to establish some ground rules so that we both know where we stand and so there's the minimum of damage to our professional relationship when this...affair - ends."

 Jack's wicked lips, which had been trailing their way along her jaw and throat as she spoke, stilled. There was a moment of hot, dangerous silence as he slowly raised his head to look her in the eye. With careful deliberation, he unwrapped his fingers from her neck one at a time, removed his hand from her backside and, pulling away from her entirely, moved to lean one arm on the wall as the other found his hip and he stared out of her window, leaving her only his rigid profile to study.

 Bereft, Phryne wrapped her arms around herself, feeling chilled. In her head, she heard the juddering, grating sound of things going very wrong. She didn't think she had ever seen him look so coldly distant, or his beloved face so harsh.

 His voice was arctic, contemptuous. "Do you always plan for the end of a romantic involvement before it begins, Miss Fisher? I'd have thought it would put a slight - dent - in proceedings."

 His tone, as much as his question, flicked her on the raw. Concealing her hurt, she shrugged as carelessly as she could. "I'm nothing if not a pragmatist, Inspector."

 He turned to face her fully then, his eyes narrowed in a look so blazing it could have ignited wood at short range. She took an involuntary step backwards before she caught herself, and lifted her chin defiantly. "A cynic, surely, Miss Fisher. It takes a special kind of cold calculation to thrash out the ramifications of the end of an affair before it's new minted." Seeing the way his eyes darkened and his fingers flexed as he spoke the word 'thrash', Phryne bit her lip, her heart quailing within her.

 "A realist, then," she countered lightly. "Just because you've finally decided you want me doesn't mean that desire will last beyond it's slaking." There was a beat of silence. She thought maybe she heard his breath catch. Then he lunged for her, his stern, burning gaze holding her transfixed for an instant before his head darted to the side of her face, pushing her chin back and laying a hot, open mouthed kiss right over where her pulse beat frantically in her throat.

 His voice reverberated against her skin, which felt chilled and far, far too hot all at the same time. " _Finally_  decided I want you, Miss Fisher?  ** _Finally_**? You know better than that. I've wanted you from the first moment of laying eyes on you,  _slavered_  for you, God forgive me, one with the constant parade of Russian tango dancers, fugitive Latvian anarchists, clairvoyant managers, Chinese silk importers, Greek fighters..." He ended on a growl of pure masculine jealousy and wounded pride, his hands roughly slipped under her skirts, rucking it up to her waist as his hands splayed over the sensitive skin of the small of her back. Then they moved downwards, gripping and squeezing firmly, and she jerked in response, a tiny mewl torn from her unwilling lips.

 He raised his head and focused dauntingly on her. His tone was very definite, his voice all gravel. "As for my desire for you being slaked... ** _Never."_**  he said firmly in a low, hot breath, his face very close; then he was kissing her ravenously. His lips were burning and needy and forceful on hers, and his hands bunched in her hair as he held her face to his with no prospect of escape. Taking a step forward, he pushed her up against the wall, not releasing her mouth for a moment as he laid claim to her, devastating her defenses as his tongue plundered her over and over again, leaving her in no doubt as to his intentions for another part of her anatomy.

 Phryne was reeling inwardly, her thoughts in free-fall as Jack ravaged her mouth relentlessly. Her body was curled into his instinctively, trembling with the sensations he was evoking within her. The intensity between them scorched her, her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest and she was desperate to have him take the rest of her as he was currently taking her mouth. He was forcing whimpers of need and pure emotional reaction from her, and he showed no signs of letting up anytime soon.

 Suddenly it was all too much, the combination of lust and emotion threatening to suffocate her, and she struggled like a wild, trapped animal. Immediately, she was released, Jack moving swiftly away and passing one shaking hand across his face. She made out the litany of obscenities he was muttering forcefully under his breath, and, feeling the tension humming beneath his skin, could not blame him. She was torn between cursing and crying herself.

 His eyes were feverish as they bored into her, and his hands, thrust deeply into his pockets, were clenched into fists to prevent him going for her once more. His tone was biting. " _More_  excuses, Miss Fisher? Do you put all your lovers through this much hell, or do you reserve it especially for my edification?"


	5. In Which Denial Becomes A Superpower

 

**In Which Denial Becomes A Super-Power**

* * *

His words were bit out with brittle emphasis, and Phryne felt real apprehension, and not a little guilt, as he stared at her grimly. The air between them seemed crowded with harsh unspoken words as several long, tense seconds passed. Her body on fire for his touch, her heart aching with the tension, Phryne drew on all her reserves of insouciant courage to deal with this most complicated of men. Her self-preservation instincts were screaming at her, and she went, as always, with their prompting.

 "Well, I must confess that my other lovers are not  _quite_  as barbarous in their dealings with me; we are generally more agreeably occupied by this time in their visits. But having experienced  **your**  idea of love-making, I thought it only fair to give you a little taste of your own medicine in return."

 He eyed her flintily. "You shouldn't have." His voice was flat and at sub-zero temperatures.

 She raised an eyebrow at him. "No?'"she enquired musingly. "Perhaps not. Maybe you're right and I should have ended this, uh,  _interlude_ , earlier. Naturally one hesitates to wound a friend's feelings, and I must certainly own to some qualms at your complete disregard for the chivalry due to a lady - who knows what you might have taken it into your head to do had I been clear and firm from the outset? - but I really feel that I have allowed you too much licence, Inspector. This has all gone quite far enough. I must ask you to leave."

 The obvious, reckless challenge made his eyes flash with something powerful and undefinable, making both her heart and her stomach clench. He tilted his head to give her a long, probing stare, his expression guarded. He purposefully drew out the moment, making her mind squirm just as her body had at his touch. Trying to anticipate his next move and agitatedly casting about in her mind for counter tactics, while being strung out on the sensory and emotional overload, was addling her wits.

 "First of all, Miss Fisher, a  _friend_  is the least of what I am to you, and I am quite used to your callous treatment of my feelings. Secondly, I only see a pirate girl of Collingwood before me, who is no stranger to a bit of rough and tumble, either on the streets or in the bedroom. And finally," his expression and tone turned dangerous. " **Don't**  think you can dismiss me like that. By now you ought to have learned to deal with the consequences of your fool-hardy decisions. Baiting me in my current state, trying to wriggle out of this, when I've ** _felt_**  your pulse leap under my hands, is right up there with some of your most madcap schemes. We've been headed for this moment since our first case, and, my sweet shrew," his voice lowered and rasped, and the expression in his eyes was knee-weakening. "You. Are. Going. To have to. Deal. With. Me."

 Phryne's insides simultaneously froze and melted into a hot liquid pool low in her belly at the caressing threat in his words. She rallied hastily. "I've no objection to taking you to my bed, Inspector, but I rather suspect from the tenor of your conversation so far that a brief dalliance isn't all you had in mind?" She ended on an airy, interrogative note.

 His eyes had flared at the the start of her reply, but as she finished his eyelids dropped and covered his expression. He leaned against the door jamb, folding his arms across his powerful chest. Phryne was hard put to it not to lick her lips at the picture he presented. All smooth skin and hard defined muscle, he was a magnificent sight to take any woman's breath away. And what she knew lay under that mouth-watering exterior made him all the harder to resist. But resist she must if she was not to lose the last piece of her soul into his keeping. She feared that, with him, physical intimacy would only reinforce the emotional intimacy they already shared, and she would be enslaved. So she doggedly adhered to her self-imposed torture of holding him at arm's length. Though what could be salvaged of their former relationship after this battle, she had not the remotest guess. Her heart wept at the thought of losing him, but better him than herself.

 "Correctly deduced, Miss Fisher, as usual. A brief dalliance would not satisfy either of us. And I intend to be fully - satisfied - after having been a master of self-denial for so long." His predatory grin left her in no doubt of his meaning.

 She flushed in response, but mimicked his pose mockingly, coolly retorting, "Satisfaction aside - and I really don't know whether you're up to scratch in that department, do I? - what would be the implications for our professional arrangement? We work in close company, Jack; could we continue successfully if we were...intimate?"

 Jaw turned to granite at her jibe, Jack dragged in a calming breath. When his eyes opened slowly once more, they were so dark as to be nearly black with mingled anger and desire. "As much  **satisfaction**  as it would give me to forbid you from ever investigating anything more dangerous than the breaking of a tea cup, Miss Fisher, you need have no apprehensions on that head. You wouldn't listen to me if I tried, and although the image of tying you to the bed so you couldn't stick so much as a  _fingernail_  into my cases definitely has its appeal, I value your input and respect your talents too much to curtail your activities. You were not made to be one of nature's little housewives, and I was not made to want such."

 Phryne fought for breath. "Should I be thanking you, Inspector?" she demanded scathingly. Her eyes widened in mock pleading. "Please, O Lord and Master, may I  ** _please_**  help you solve a murder? And after you've taken the credit for it, I'd be so grateful if you would come to my bed and ravish me!"

 He was across the room before she could blink, his hand wrapped around her throat, brusquely angling her head up towards him. His long, sensitive fingers held her jaw in an iron grip, as she stared at him wide-eyed and panting. His gaze was molten, unblinking, and Phryne, her heart racing, felt very much like a small fluttering creature caught in a predator's clutches - while at the same time, something of an equal ferocity and wild hunger seemed to waken and uncurl in her chest, stretching and purring, wanting to reach him,  **wanting**...

 She winced to see the hardness creeping back into his handsome, stern face. When he finally spoke, the harmonics in his voice trailed their way up her spine to bury themselves in the base of her skull, and wrapped velvet sheathed talons around her heart.

"When have I  ** _ever_**  failed to give you the recognition you deserve on a case?" he challenged her. She opened her mouth to defend herself, to protest, but he cut her off before the words were half formed. "As for the rest...Oh, ** _yes_** , Miss Fisher," he breathed out, low and intent and unrelenting. "I thought you'd never ask."


	6. In Which Grievances Are Aired

 

 

**In Which Grievances Are Aired**

* * *

 

Jack yanked Phryne towards him, his mouth coming down hard and undeniable on hers. He kissed her ruthlessly, with very little restraint, slamming her back up against the wall, his mouth savagely taking possession of hers with long, fierce, ravenous strokes. There was something animalistic clawing at her stomach, wanting more  _more_   **more** , and she involuntarily arched up to press her chest against his, suddenly needing to touch him with every inch of her skin.

 His hands roamed, forceful and deliberate, and her breath caught in a small sound in her throat, half blissful sigh, half frustrated groan. He reacted violently to it, his grip on her tightening reflexively, and his kiss turning wild and insatiable. With a flutter in her chest, Phryne felt herself melt further, things tightening low inside her body as his hands slipped round and down to cup her backside and lift her, roughly spreading her legs wider around his hips. 

He pressed himself against her, never once releasing her lips, his mouth covering the moaning noise she made as he brought one burning hand back up and around, trailing across her sensitized skin, moving up below her silk blouse to press firmly against her breast.

 Phryne faltered, intoxicated and unsettled. There was something... "Wait!" she gasped, tearing her mouth from his, her hands going to his shoulders and pushing ineffectually. She rested her head back against the wall, closing her eyes as she struggled to calm the heavy insistent pounding of her blood. Jack didn't miss a beat, giving her earlobe a swift, startling lick before kissing and nipping her bared throat with hot lips and teasing teeth, taking advantage of whatever expanse of skin was exposed to him.

 "Jack, wait - stop-"

 "No.  **Not**  going to happen, Phryne," he murmured, and his pace altered, his lips moving lazily, devastatingly, down along the flushed skin of her quivering neck, until his tongue lapped at the hollow of her throat. The warmth and intent he was radiating were reducing her insides to hot liquid mush, and it was taking all of her self-control not to wriggle and squirm shamelessly against him. His hands were strong and impatient, tracing scorching paths across her skin, but his mouth coaxed her responses leisurely, as if there were nothing else in the world besides his lips and the will commanding them, against which she was helpless.

 "Ja... _ack_..." she gasped, and her voice caught, sounding breathless and constricted and just this side of pleading.

 He raised his head at that to regard her with a heated, satisfied smirk. "Oh  ** _yes_** , Miss Fisher," he breathed. "That's the only way I want to hear you say my name from now on." There was a taunting confidence and amusement in the familiar curl of his lip, but also a slightly edged, absorbed seriousness in his gleaming eyes as he scrutinized her flushed and now scowling face.

 Phryne achieved a lady-like, derisive snort. "Wanting doesn't make it so, now does it, Inspector?"

 His jaw set at that provocation, and he pressed one hard, punishing kiss against her lips, simultaneously raking one hand roughly all over her as her body jerked in its wake. His hot, irritated hunger was heady and darkly thrilling and Phryne shivered, caught between delighted anticipation, erotic apprehension and simmering exasperation.

 Yielding to impulse, she pressed her lips to his chin and lower, to his neck, kissing him briefly once, twice, before allowing her mouth to linger over his heated, hammering pulse. The low sound vibrating in his chest was a pleased, male noise, and as she pressed herself against him and clutched at his shoulders it altered, roughening and turning into something primal and hungry. His kiss immediately turned more forceful, and just a little less controlled and Phryne reeled with heat and sensation, at the mercy of pure primitive instinct.

 She felt very small, her body crushed against the broad hard length of him, crowded against the wall at her back, and her breath left her in a rush of unnamed fear, for suddenly he seemed huge, larger than anything else in the room, larger than life itself. His body was so close that every labored rise and fall of her chest brushed against him, her every move was met by his flesh; he surrounded her without even trying and he'd been right - there was no escape for her...

 A delicious rending sound caught her whirling thoughts before they flew free into the madness that was threatening to envelop her, and the caress of cool air against her suddenly bare skin forced her eyelids open. She was just in time to see Jack flick the torn remnants of her silk blouse onto the floor with one hand, while the other came up between her and the wall, cradling her head and angling her towards him so that she had to grip his lean hips with her thighs, and clutch at his broad shoulders with all her strength.

 She made an indignant sound of protest at the cavalier treatment of her clothes, raising her head to glare in mingled annoyance and amusement down at him. "I  _liked_  that top, Inspector. What is the penalty for destruction of someone's personal property, according to the book?"

 Her voice was throaty and tremulous, and Phryne groaned inwardly at the flash of pure masculine satisfaction that swept across Jack's face for an instant before he wiped it away and replaced it with an expression close to innocence. Only his eyes, which were dark and glowing with mischief and sinful promise, gave him away, and her heart gave a queer little jump at their expression. He had looked at her just  ** _so_**  many times over the course of their partnership, and it always had the same effect on her. The familiar weakening of her legs and arms overcame her, as if she was suddenly boneless, and it was only his quiet, confident strength that kept her rooted on the same planet as him. Her vision felt clouded by passion, her pulse pounded relentlessly in her ears, and her heightened senses absorbed each taste, touch and smell, until every fiber of her being was saturated with Jack Robinson.

 "I think, considering our current...position, that you should call me Jack, Miss Fisher. You usually do, after all." His dry voice anchored her to the moment and recalled to her mind a particular grievance, even as his fingers massaged the nape of her neck and up into her hair in an aching, teasing caress that brought the threat of stinging tears to her eyes.

 Phryne cleared her throat and blinked to clear her vision. "This isn't exactly a 'usual' situation for us,  _Inspector_. And why should I call you by your given name, when you  _insist_  on calling me Miss Fisher, when you  _know_  I dislike it, and when I expressly gave you permission to call me Phryne early on in our acquaintance?" she demanded, her words tumbling over each other in pent up haste. "I don't gift just anyone with the present of my first name, you know, and yet it is a privilege you have _persistently_  scorned - "

 His hand covering her mouth effectively put a stop to what was bidding fair to turn into a tirade, and Phryne's eyes blazed at the cool assurance of his action. She tried to jerk her head free of his grip, but with one hand cupping the back of her head to prevent it hitting the wall, and the other firmly over her indignant lips, Jack held her immobile. He grinned up at her; her eyes narrowed in response, and deliberately, she bit one of his long fingers. Hard.

 Jack's breath hissed through his teeth as he inhaled sharply with the shock and sting of it. He moved his hips sharply backward and Phryne was dropped to the floor with a yelp, her legs sliding between him and the wall behind her. She had a moment of whirling, heady victory at having one-upped him, before she felt his powerful arms come around her like steel bands, one under her arms against her back and one under her knees as he raised her easily and deposited her sprawling in the center of her bed.

 Before she could bounce up, making a sound very like that of an infuriated kitten, Jack's body was caging hers as he crouched above her on all fours. Phryne collapsed back onto her elbows, staring up at him and trying to remember how to breathe. He was close, too close, and his smoke eyes were diving into hers in that look he gave her as if her could strip her soul bare and read it as easily as he would his collected Shakespeare. He was utterly motionless, apart from sucking in a long, deep breath, almost as if stealing it from her mouth. For one still, vibrant, intense moment that stretched on and on in silence but for the pounding of their hearts, there was nothing else to the world except his nerve-searing  _presence,_ his mesmerizing gaze caught in her own, intent and unnervingly focused on her.

 Was it her trembling? Or was it the tension vibrating off him? Something, someone was surely going to shatter or explode. Just as she felt her heart twist and seize, Phryne broke eye contact with an effort, close to hyperventilating. Even without looking up, she could still clearly feel his body heat as a shock against her skin; his forceful, electric presence intruding on her senses in an irresistibly magnetic way.

 "Don't you  **dare**  look away, Phryne," Jack's voice rasped next to her ear as he brought one hand up to cup her chin in a warm, firm, possessive embrace. "Keep those cat's eyes on me. I want to see you."

 Reluctantly, her eyes flew to his, and what she saw in his gaze touched her soul and made her stomach curl. There was  **everything**  in the way his eyes held hers, every last vestige of his raging desire, passionate impatience and frightening focus. His stormy eyes held a rebuke and a warning and a confession and a supplication, and her heart quivered within her. 

 "The reason I have consistently called you Miss Fisher, and not Phryne, is quite simple," he continued, moving forward so that she had to sink fully onto her back in order to keep a few inches of vital breathing space between their faces. His hands stroked the bare underside of her arms down towards her palms in a stunningly tender gesture, then swept her hands up to rest on the bed either side of her head, and imprisoned them there.

 "At the outset, I was a married man. I was not free to be intimate with you, and allowing myself to use your Christian name would have knocked down too many barriers between us for my peace of mind. Then, when I was free, I did not  ** _want_**  the pain of being emotionally close to you. When I overcame  _that_  objection, I did not want to be just another in the constant parade of liberal minded men, who no doubt were also invited to call you Phryne. I had to create boundaries around myself for my own protection, but as fast as I built them, you decimated them like the charming freight train you are." His voice, which had turned sharp and impatient as he referred to the other men in her life, warmed and complicated as he finished, tinged with amusement.

 He kissed her deeply then, with none of the violence of before, and Phryne could feel the restrained passion practically humming beneath his golden skin. Eventually, he slowly pulled away, looking at her intently to gauge her reaction to his confession. His eyes were dark and ironic, and held a strange twisted smile. She stared back at him, mellowed by the kiss and unable to protest or deny his frankness. Something blossomed and purred in her chest. All along, it had been  _ **her**_ , and she exulted inwardly. Somewhat of what she was thinking must have shown in her face, for the next moment Jack's mouth smothered hers as he pounced, bearing her down onto the bed with a kiss that was lustful and demanding and implacable.


	7. In Which Patience Is A Virtue

 

 

**In Which Patience Is A Virtue**

* * *

 Somehow, in the tangle of hot limbs, they had rolled, and Phryne's body was a tight, intent arc above him, aggressively pressing her lips on his. For a moment, Jack just as fiercely and unrelentingly pushed back, his kiss that of desperate, long restrained need as his hunger soared to painful heights. The many months of working so closely together had felt like years of exquisite, expert torture, every night futilely burning for her, the thought of another man touching her like the lash of a whip to his soul. He cupped the roundness of her breasts in desperation, his fingers flickering firmly over green silk, making a sound somewhere between a curse and a benediction. Uncontrollable greed for her, never very far beneath his calm, business-like facade, ripped through him.  **N** **ow** , he had to have her whole,  ** _now...!_**

 Phryne's whimper of mutual, feverish need recalled him to his senses, and he remembered that he intended to be in her bed for more than just a frantic tumble. Hauling himself back from the brink of the chasm that threatened to consume him nearly cost him his sanity, but years of practiced control and detachment came to his aid. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her still so that the deliberate shifting of her hips could no longer drive him insane, and his mouth gentled under hers as he concentrated on dragging his runaway instincts back under his command. The fires of passion were licking at his insides, screaming at him to hold her down and plunge into her this second, but he clamped mercilessly down on them, drawing in a long, shuddering breath.

 Jack tilted his head, capturing her gaze and feeling her go still as they communicated wordlessly. Phryne was humming with wary tension, hunger, and potential danger. Jack lifted his lips to kiss the corner of her mouth soothingly, the underside of her jaw and down her taut neck where he felt her quickened pulse. He inhaled deeply, savoring the intoxicating, tantalizing smell of her - perfume and aroused woman and something indefinable that was all Phryne's own - as he set his teeth softly against the join of her neck and shoulder. 

 She twitched under his attention, then arched her head back for him and Jack felt a silent, exultant surge of triumph as he moved and she went with him, pliant and willing, until he was over her once more, their legs entwined and only the bracing of his elbows either side of her neck preventing them being nose to nose. Green-blue eyes looked up into whiskey-grey, and they exchanged a heart-stopping look that spoke volumes.

 He kissed her then, sweetly, because he couldn't help himself, pouring himself into her lips, feeling a pressure unfurl in his chest that he didn't dare name as she softened in turn beneath him, returning his kiss with every fiber of her being, and they came so close - perilously close - to tenderness. The kiss began as a thing of beguiling softness, slowly gathering heat and demand. Tenderness tangled with impatience, and both glowed with desire as Jack both savored and ravaged her mouth, alternately lingering to draw her out in a deep, slow ache, and then fiercely aggressive.

 Phryne's arms clutched at his shoulders in mindless hunger, her heart pounding painfully hard in a chest that was growing tight with the need for air. She was almost struggling against him to breathe, and Jack relented briefly as they both drew in breath in a deep, shuddering gasp before their lips melded again. He gave her a brief, firm press of his lips before trailing sinful kisses over her neck and the swell of her breasts. He lingered there, hot breath steaming over her as his tongue traced the outline of her brassiere. 

 Wildly impatient, Phryne pushed him back with a hand on his distractingly firm chest, sat up and removed the obstacle in one hurried motion. Thinking only of having his strong, beautiful hands on her, she pushed her hair out of her face and reached for him with an inarticulate, demanding noise, but her caught her hands and held them wide, feasting his eyes on her as he leaned nonchalantly back on his heels.

 Jack just _looked_  at her, his hooded eyes gleaming as they roved over her face, lingering heatedly on her lips so that she  ** _felt_  **him there, then moving unhurriedly over her pale shoulders before fastening on her aching breasts. Phryne bit her lip, aware of all the dizzying possibilities of the moment, and swallowed as his scorching gaze returned to her face. She put her head on one side, smiling slowly and knowingly at him, absurdly pleased by the unabashed desire and admiration she encountered in his eyes.

 "Like what you see, Jack?" she murmured, her eyes taunting him provocatively.

 "Can you doubt it, Miss Fisher?" he returned, unfazed, before moving towards her in one liquid rush to pull her into his arms and gently tip her over, pressing her shoulders into the bed and following her down to brand hot kisses over her chest. She shifted so that she took almost his full weight, and her breath left her in a grateful sigh because his weight on felt absolutely natural and perfect and  _necessary_...before she lost her concentration as he cupped her bare breast, on the cusp of too hard, and his thumb brushed over her nipple which firmed and burned beneath his palm.

 She arched wildly as his body deserted hers abruptly and she felt his hot tongue sweep from her neck to her navel in one firm movement. He  _peeled_  her skirt and undergarments from her inch by inch, replacing silk, satin and linen with feather-light caresses and tiny biting kisses over her hip bones, quivering, pearl-like thighs and small feet. 

 Gasping, eyes wide, she looked down as he traced the veins at her ankles, mapped the elegant curve of her calf and rubbed his face against the inside of her knee with a strange absorption. His hands wrapped around her hips and pulled her down the bed towards him possessively, raising his head to meet her eyes with wicked intent.

 He breathed deliberately over the wet trail left on her legs by his tongue, and Phryne's stomach clenched at the cold sensation in the midst of such flaming heat. She bit back an unwilling whimper, and pulled him to her, kissing him passionately, wanting,  _needing_  to share the inferno inside her. He responded easily, but she knew that he was holding back, that there was a tiny core of him that he was keeping from her. Raging against him mentally -  _even now, could he not let go?_  - she buried her fingers in his hair, turning wanton beneath him, feeding the furnace of desperation burning her chest into the kiss. 

 Her tongue attacked his recklessly, with wild abandon and relish, giving everything she had. His tongue met with hers, his hands tightened at her waist and, impossibly, he hardened even more against her. She kissed him with all the smoldering lust they shared, the memory of every barbed comment, charged stare, shared glance, amused banter and contentious disagreement firing her. Jack Robinson would not be permitted to kiss her with anything less than every ounce of his being fully invested in the moment, and get away without being scalded.

 Jack finally tore his mouth from hers, breathing hard, his eyes dark with desire. Phryne thought she heard him curse viciously as he battled with himself, then his mouth closed over her breast and her mouth opened soundlessly. Impulsively pressing his head closer, she gasped and her body bowed towards him in silent, instinctive offering, lifting her legs to wrap tightly around his waist. It felt as if Jack faltered, almost staggering above her, for a split second, then his teeth joined his tongue at one breast as he suckled her nipple fiercely, and Phryne cried out with shock and sensation.

 She clung to him as he pressed one leg between her thighs, panting with need. She dragged her nails lightly, but with intent, down over the muscles of his back to slip into the waistband of his blue wool suit trousers. Their cut hampered her questing fingers, and she made a discontented noise into his mouth before circling around to the front of his trousers and eagerly attacking the fastening.

 Immediately, Jack stilled, dangerous tension invading his body. His hips jerked down, trapping her  questing hands between their heated flesh. Frustrated, Phryne glared up at him, only to find his eyes closed and to feel his entire body shaking with some tightly held restraint. Her eyes narrowed, and she used her strength to ripple beneath him, ensuring his still clothed hardness brushed against the hot, wet center of her. His breath hissed through his teeth, and his jaw clenched as he opened drowning-dark eyes to pin her with a hypnotic, glittering gaze.

 " **Don't**  be in such a hurry, Miss Fisher," he scolded, his eyes both playful and terribly intent. "Did you really think that after all these months of waiting, this would be over so quickly?"

 Before Phryne could summon a reply, his lips had taken domineering possession of hers again, and he grabbed her hands in one of his and pinned them above her head. She felt a rush of deliciously fear-tinged desire at the predatory way he was holding her down, but she marveled inwardly at the difference the right man could make. Rene had held her thus, but he had terrified her, when she had surfaced from her lust and naivete induced fog to realize what sort of obsessive man she had entangled herself with. 

 Never, not for one instant, did she feel unsafe in Jack's arms. She  _knew_  him, so thoroughly that at times she wondered where she ended and he began. They had built such an unbreakable bond of trust and respect and friendship over time, observing each other in the best and worst of times, that he was the first person she would unthinkingly turn to in need. Her day began with his half-smile of welcome at a crime scene, and ended with the clink of his glass against hers.

 He would sooner die than see harm come to her, much less visit it upon her himself, and she had felt so secure in that knowledge that she had deliberately waved a red rag at a bull on more than one occasion. If she kindled him to a flame and herself got burnt in the process, she could not blame him. Any heady, mind-blowing, tumbling savagery he cared to subject her to in the bedroom -  _or his office, or anywhere else, for that matter_  - would be more than welcome.

 Sensation and lust derailed her train of thought as his hand shot down between her legs and his fingers brushed her ever so lightly, and then  _ **flexed**_... Phryne bit out a cry into the meeting of their mouths and Jack made a sound that was deeper than a growl, wilder than a roar and which made her last scraps of consciousness flail in the whirlwind of heat and want as she welcomed every forceful thrust of his tongue, her jaw aching and her mind dizzy even as she craved more. Her head spun, her body was strung as tight as a piano wire beneath his touch and she was meeting and matching his pitiless assault on her mouth, her stomach in free-fall as she wondered if they would prove spontaneous human combustion to be more than an urban legend after all...

 Jack finally dragged his mouth from hers, leaving her lips swollen and abused, and dragging a protesting, vehement " **No**!" from Phryne as she lifted her head involuntarily to hungrily seek out his lips again. He drew slowly back, and she followed him, then realized what she was doing, and swore at herself in her head. She crashed her head back onto the pillow, upbraiding him with her eyes. His broad, hard shoulders pinned her down bodily, filling her vision. 

 She stared speechlessly up at him from beneath half-closed eyes, passion a drug pulsing through her veins. Meeting his burning gaze made her heart lurch wildly, for his expression was ferocious and darkly, dangerously confident. She shifted nervously beneath him, her throat very dry. There was a predatory amusement in his gaze, his breath was hot as it fanned over her face, and his voice, when he eventually spoke, made her stomach tighten.

 "I am not going to rush towards the finish line with you on this occasion, Miss Fisher," Jack declared, with a voice like the slow slide of steel through black velvet. "I am going to make you gasp, and squirm. I am going to take my own damn time. I am going to make you  ** _whimper_**  for every time you've disobeyed my orders. I am going to make you  ** _mewl_**  for each occasion you thrust yourself merrily into danger. I am going to make you moan for the draping of yourself over my desk, for lifting your skirts around me at every opportunity, for flaunting that nude painting in front of me, for that  _damned_  fan dance, for every sultry look you've ever thrown my way..."

 His tone was hot, and hungry, and lethal. It was lazy, and intent, and definite. It was determined, and implacable, and inescapable. It was her daydreams and her nightmares and her fantasies offered to her on a silver platter. It winded her, and casually plucked her heart from her chest, and branded itself on her soul. Phryne stiffened her spine and clawed her courage to her, lifting her chin in defiance even as her body melted in erotic apprehension. Jack's eyebrows snapped together as he saw her gathering her defenses, and his free hand wound itself tightly in her hair in warning as he continued.

 "...I am going to wring every sob of desperate desire from those pretty lips of yours, my aggravating wild child, until you're writhing beneath me and begging me to  **take**  you, right now. And then," he breathed, rolling his hips up and into hers, eliciting a choked gasp from her, "and  _then_...I will make you scream yourself hoarse for every single man you've taken since we met."

 "Not on your nelly!" Phryne managed to snap, torn between throwing herself ecstatically at him and running for the hills. "Those men have nothing to do with you!" Her Collingwood lilt, always more present in times of extreme emotion or stress, coated each syllable thickly.

 A dark, ominous chuckle escaped him. "Not technically, no, not then. But just because I didn't have the right to say anything, and as much as I don't judge you - you're a free, red-blooded woman after all - doesn't mean I didn't want to beat every one of them to a pulp, and make frantic love to ** _you_**  until you couldn't think straight and would never look at any other man."

"For God's sake, Jack, why _didn't_  you?!" Phryne exclaimed, indignant. "Heaven knows I wanted you to!"

 Jack shook his head, his mouth turning down at one corner. He spoke softly, seriously. "You had to decide no one else but me would do for you on your own. I could have forced the issue, but I'd have always wondered whether you secretly wanted other men, and resented me for trying to control you. I don't want to clip your wings; I'd just like you to choose to fly free with me alone."

" _Oh!_ "was all that Phryne was capable of uttering after a speech like that. Something small and furry trembled in her chest, and her lips curved in a blinding, joyous smile. He met it with an answering gleam of his own, looking impossibly young and carefree and heart-wrenchingly gorgeous. They stared, rapt, into each other's eyes, their breathing gradually becoming labored. Jack's expression altered subtly, darkening and filling with shifting secrets, his face a study in warm shadows. He swooped and placed a mockingly chaste kiss on her parted lips. Phryne was coming back to herself enough to inquire cheekily,

 "And now that you have me where you want me, Inspector, what  ** _shall_  **you do with me?"

 Something between a groan and a laugh greeted this sally, and he fixed her with the warning, calculating, warm look that she had grown to love. "I thought I'd made my intentions abundantly clear, Miss Fisher. You've had all the power in our partnership from the beginning. Now it's my turn."


	8. In Which Certain Truths Come To Light

 

 

**In Which Certain Truths Come To Light**

* * *

  _Oh no, you don't._ Trying very hard to ignore the quite undeniable lightening jolt of reaction to Jack's fierce, remorseless words -  _and **that**  voice which hinted at melted chocolate, and velvet, and leather, and gasping sweat-drenched bodies entwining, pale fingers clutching at black silk sheets, hips arching uncontrollably upwards in hopeless craving_ - in her lower belly and elsewhere, Phryne stared up at him, arching her fine brows playfully.

 "But are you sure that you have it in you, Inspector? It takes a brave man indeed, or a very foolish one, to think that he can have it all his own way in  _my_  bed."

 "And which do you take  _me_  for, Miss Fisher?" he queried lightly, shifting onto his side so that he was lying next to her, still holding her wrists stretched up above her head with one large hand, while the other toyed lazily with her hair as he tipped his head to read her expression, his eyes warm and teasing and wonderful.

 Now that he was not bearing her bodily down into the mattress, Phryne tensed slightly in readiness for her bid for freedom, testing him, and he responded by immediately throwing one of his legs up so that his thigh pinned hers, trapping her just as effectively. The look he gave her held his appreciative understanding of what was going through her mind, but was full of warning, and slightly reproachful. Phryne returned it with a wide-eyed, mock-innocent gaze of her own, and for a moment they grinned at each other, completely in tune and rather delighted at this fresh example of the intimacy into which they had slipped from the moment their Ballarat Train case had been concluded.

 "Perhaps a little of both, Jack Robinson, a little of both," Phryne answered him teasingly. "After all, lustfully compromising yourself with me, when you know very well that you disapprove of me just as much as you want me, hardly seems the action of the very careful man I have come to know."

 He raised a brow, choosing not to fully answer her accusation, instead asking dryly, " 'Lustfully compromised'? Is _that_  what we are?"

 "Well, we  _could_  be by now, if you weren't so intent on merely talking me into submission. Is that all you're going to be capable of, Detective Inspector, or are you just out of practice?" Phryne's expression was coolly challenging, as she provoked him recklessly, suppressing her gleeful enjoyment at the sharp breath he inhaled through his nose.

 His jaw clenched, and he gave her a long, withering look. "While I can't claim to have had a different sexual partner every week, Miss Fisher,  _practice_  certainly isn't an issue." His eyes narrowed in a dangerous, appraising look as they locked eyes. "And if your other men - or should I say  _ **boys**_? -" he continued scathingly, "- had known you even a quarter as well as I do, or were half as good as they thought they were, they'd have known that the talking, the prelude, is vital to the success of what follows." He ended on an intent, hot murmur, his sensual mouth compressed and his eyes refusing to release their hold on her.

 Phryne's breath was harsh in her own ears as she lay very still, ensnared by the suggestion of amused chiding in his tone. It held more than a touch of annoyance, and even bordered on the -  _ominous -_ as he propped himself on one elbow above her, eyeing her sternly. She marshaled her forces determinedly, and replied flirtatiously, with a self-possessed, slightly teasing smile:

 "Do you mean _fore_ play, Jack? There's no need to beat about the bush, you can be quite forthright with me. I'm not a prude, you know.  _I_  don't blush at the sight of a little bare flesh. _I_  don't look away as quickly as possible when someone wears a revealing outfit.  _I_  don't object to -"

 "mmphh...!"

 Jack's mouth smothered hers as he fell on her, a growl echoing deep in his chest as he curled his free hand around her waist and hooked her to him savagely. If Phryne had been in any doubt as to the stimulating effect of a sexually tense argument, it was soon proved to her beyond any reasonable doubt that it certainly didn't cause either of them a lack of ardor.

 His kiss was domineering and wild and pitiless, and she was cast adrift in his storm as he released her wrists to bury his newly freed hand in her hair. Everything about him was tense and strained; she could feel the corded muscles of his arms and thighs, the ripple of his powerful frame as he clutched her to him, closer, closer, so that she couldn't think, couldn't  ** _breathe_** , and there was nothing else to the world but a hot, mindless tangling of tongues and limbs.

 He eventually wrenched his mouth from hers, drawing a whimper of unthinking protest from Phryne, only for him to instantly lay stinging, swift, unpredictable kisses and nips over her bared throat, keeping her helplessly pinned until she shivered and melted all at once. 

 Feeling her response in the quiver that ran through her, he laughed once, a triumphant pirate laugh, before trailing his lips lazily, devastatingly, down over her neck, until his tongue flicked at the hollow of her throat and she flinched against him, humming in appreciation involuntarily. His hand stayed at her waist, pressing and mapping the curve, holding her flush to him, his thumb drawing slow, insistent circles on the inside of her hip.

 Her body wordlessly begging for more, Phryne stared wildly at the ceiling, her hands clenching restlessly against her silk coverlet, torn helplessly between hauling him closer and pushing him desperately away. Tangled vestiges of thought chased their way through her head -  _this is different he is different this is too much this is not enough oh please God_  -

 Jack's voice, low, forceful and compelling, pulled her back to herself. "I'm so far from being a prude, you witch, that I'll let you in on a little secret, in case you didn't already know. Do you want to know what I thought when I saw that nude painting of you? It took every ounce of will-power I had not to tear your clothes from your body, tip you back onto your chaise and  _ride_  you into oblivion...and when you opened that trench-coat, and showed me your circus outfit - God, you'll never know how close you came to being taken over my desk, Collins and the rest of the station be ** _damned_**...!" 

 One hand had been moving tantalizingly slowly down over her thigh as he spoke, and in one sudden movement hooked behind her knee and pressed it up, crushing it against her breast, and his fingers slipped firmly, confidently over her slick heat. Jack's breath left him in a hiss; Phryne gave a sharp, panting cry, trying to move her hips away - or press them closer, she could not tell, she only knew it was imperative that she  ** _move_** , and release this sweet ache that was licking down her bones...but he held her down and pointedly waited until her glazed eyes met his before continuing:

 "You don't want me to stop -  ** _do_**  you? - you want me to do that again, and more, much more...you  **want**  me,  _don't_  you, my Phryne...?" His eyes were brimful of dark relish and anticipation as his lips brushed feather-soft and achingly teasing over her breast.

 Mastering her voice and pulling herself mentally together cost Phryne an effort that almost drained her fast dwindling resources of steely defiance. She was close, so close, to throwing caution to the winds and begging him, but...

 In a tone of (somewhat throaty) thoughtful assessment, she replied musingly, "Hmm - better, certainly, Inspector. Very nice, really. Your technique could use a little work, and as for the lack of finesse...well, I suppose we can't all be cool under fire." 

 What possessed her to goad him like this, and in a manner so exactly calculated to rile, even  _wound_  him, she didn't know. A little frightened by the intensity of her body's clamoring for his, vexed at his autocratic high-handedness, and terrified at the sensation somewhere between electrocution and the first drop on the Scenic Railway causing havoc in her chest, Phryne felt as if she was fighting for her very survival. And she had never had a problem with fighting dirty.

 Jack slowly raised his head. They traded heated stares, his eyes fathoms deep with swirling, _lethal_  emotion, hers boldly challenging, trying, not entirely successfully, to conceal the turmoil she was battling. He was utterly still as he delved into her eyes, seeking her secrets, and he smiled a very strange smile as he stared down at her, with an oddly considering,  _weighing_  look on his angled, passion-drawn features. Phryne's chest tightened, her hands froze on the bed, and every muscle in her body seemed to tense because she found it utterly beyond her power to define what thoughts were passing behind his shadowed eyes, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

 The dark, throbbing moment s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d...and then was gone, as the light shifted in his eyes and he tilted his chin down to warm her with his familiar, delicious, self-deprecating half-smile. Phryne's breath left her in a  _whoosh_ of relief, adrenaline fizzing its way through her body and adding to the unsettling exhilaration that had her in its hold. Jack's clever mouth moved back down, his teeth grazed over her collarbone and his voice against her skin was a husky, forceful whisper.

 "My aggravating...impossible...demanding... **Phryne**..." His hands tightened, digging slightly into the soft flesh of her hips as his teeth closed about her shoulder slowly, deliberately, just the right side of too hard, and she gasped and jerked reflexively beneath him, her mind stumbling over the soft, dangerous, erotic lilt to the way he made love to her name with his mouth. He lingered over its syllables as if he couldn't bear to have them leave his tongue. He uttered it as a threat and a promise, a curse and a blessing, as if it was his hope of heaven and prospect of hell all rolled into one.

 Her lips trembling, her body a tight, frustrated, quivering wreck of feverish lust, Phryne drew a deep, ragged breath, shutting her eyes tight in a last, desperate line of defense. It was  _stupid_ , and  _dangerous_ , and  _foolhardy_ , to allow a man this much power. He had taken most unfair advantage of her abiding curiosity for crime, had progressed by unnoticeable increments to the position of trusted friend and confidante; had, in short, become her sole dependence and delight.  _Her_ ,  _Phryne Fisher!_  And all without her noticing, or thinking to take steps to halt his marauding advance until he was perfectly positioned to enter her soul without permission, and lay it waste...

 She railed at herself silently. She had been so cock-sure, so safe in her carefully chosen independent existence, so caught up in the heady thrill of crime-solving, of having any man she chose, that she had never stopped to think of the state of her own heart. Now he was blasting through the flimsy protections she had formed around herself as efficiently as if he were strolling through the front lines with walking fire at his hip.

 "So. You find something lacking in my, uh -  _finesse_ , thus far, Miss Fisher? Would you like me to improve on it?"


	9. In Which Things Get Heated

 

 

**In Which Things Get Heated**

* * *

 

"More than anything..." The purring words slipped from her lips before she could catch them, and her eyelids swept down to cover the stab of vexation she felt at her own unruly tongue. She felt him freeze, statue-like, before he shifted next to her, his thigh no longer trapping hers to the bed, but sliding unhurriedly down between her thighs. 

 Phryne clenched her teeth so as not to gasp, and willed herself to ignore the feeling of pressure between her legs. There was a moment's tense stillness before his free hand gently imprisoned her jaw and tipped it up towards him slightly, so that the only barrier left between them were her lowered eyes. He was breathing in short, sharp pants, and she sensed, rather than saw, him constantly moving his head, trying to look her in the eye.

 "Look at me, Phryne," Jack breathed, releasing his grip on her wrists and transferring it to her shoulder. His voice broke on the last word and he shook her slightly. "Look at me, damn it!"

 Her eyes flew indignantly to his, their color as strong as sapphires, and he gave a soft, exultant laugh that was verging on the hysterical. His eyes were wild, and the expression on his face was rapidly becoming alarming. Phryne found herself running her hands over his upper arms and shoulders soothingly, and snatched the guilty members away. 

 Her palms felt empty, and itched to touch him again, however - to stroke and map the hard, lean muscles that were displayed in mouth-watering proximity to her. A small, subconscious pout formed on her lips, and she carefully avoided looking him in the eye as she caressed his chest, feather-light and surprisingly tentatively.

 "Phryne?" Jack waited until she raised reluctant eyes to his. "Did you mean that?" he demanded roughly, his eyes glittering with something crazier than joy, stronger than shock.

 "Mean what?" she asked innocently, as close to muttering sulkily as she ever got, becoming bolder in her movements and tracing his well-defined rib-cage with firm, questing fingers.

 He imprisoned both her small, teasing hands in one of his, and glared heatedly down at her. "You know  _what_ , Miss Fisher. Now is  **not**  the time for prevarication. Say it again, or so help me, I will get off this bed, walk out that door, and out of this house. If you were to receive your just desserts, I should probably walk out of your life for good, too, but at this point I don't think that's a possibility."

 Phryne scowled up at him, a moue of disapproval on her lips. Now that she had started touching his naked torso, she  _really_  didn't appreciate being stopped. She gave her arms a tug. She might as well have tried to lift Mr. Jones' circus strong box. Jack's grip was perfectly gentle - she would not bruise - but pulling against his hold succeeded in moving him not one jot. He fielded her best efforts almost absently, and with insulting ease. She sighed irritably.

 "You know, Jack, you're far too fond of restraining me," she said in a scolding tone, but with humor and an edge of unmistakable sultriness to her voice.

 Caught off guard by her remark, Jack glanced swiftly down at her in surprise, his eyes following her meaningful look to take in his hold on her wrists before returning instantly to her face, searching it for the answers to unspoken questions. What he saw there must have reassured him, for his body, which had tensed all over, relaxed somewhat, and one eyebrow swept up archly.

 "What can I say? You bring out the worst in me, Miss Fisher." He smiled, teasing and warm, pressing his lips down on her in a swift kiss. "Could my fondness for restraining you possibly be due to your penchant for careering off on - usually dangerous - tangents at the drop of a hat? At least this way, I know where you are. And I  _don't_  want you to think that I haven't noticed that you're trying to change the subject. I'll have my answer, Miss Fisher, if I have to tie you to the bed and  ** _lick_**  you until you accept that fact."

 Phryne's brain hiccoughed, but she withstood his stare coolly, at least on the surface. The mental images he'd just gifted her with were too much for her to handle just then. "You are out of your mind, Jack Robinson!" she exclaimed, somehow sounding a little shrill.

 His eyes narrowed slightly, his grip tightening infinitesimally on her wrists as he pulled her closer against him, enough to prove that he was unnervingly stronger than her. He felt very warm against her chest, taunting amusement ghosting through his eyes, even as he let her see his impatience.

 "Very possibly, Miss Fisher. I thought you enjoyed having some effect on a man? You should be feeling victorious that your powder wasn't wasted on me."

 She gaped at him. The man was utterly infuriating. Throwing her own words back in her face, was he? She'd see about  **that**!

 He gave a put-upon sigh. "Not that I don't enjoy the novelty of seeing you speechless, Miss Fisher, but this isn't exactly the way I'd imagined achieving it. It's most inconvenient, given our unfinished conversation. However," he continued smoothly, his eyes dropping to her lips, "if you're not going to speak, then it would be a shame not to put that pretty mouth of yours to a better use..."

 Paralyzed, Phryne watched his head descend towards her, intent and slow and inescapable. Her breath was all of a sudden coming short, as once more her insides tightened and she felt a rush of heat to her face, eyes wildly on his mouth as it drew nearer to kiss her again...

 With a stupendous effort of will, she turned her head away at the last second from the promise of his lips hovering one warm breath away from hers. "Yes!" she strangled out, her voice constricted as she concentrated very hard on her Sarcelle painting.

 "What was that?" Jack asked, startled. She turned her head to look at him, and the look of befuddlement on his face had her biting her lip to keep from laughing.

 "...Yes," she breathed out. He blinked. Phryne went on more strongly, looking up at him, her eyes challenging. "Yes, I did mean it."

 Before she could elaborate, Jack had taken complete possession of her mouth and her tongue, and was kissing her with an emotional intensity that made her heart flutter disgracefully. He attacked her with a passion that made every last whisper of self-preservation she'd ever had flicker and die. He kissed her like she was his, and would never be allowed to be anyone else's.

 He pressed close to her, shifting his muscled thigh against her center, and she caught his lower lip between her teeth, pleased. She nipped him, pushing down and writhing slightly on his leg to add friction to the already nearly over-whelming sensations at the core of her.

 Jack seemed to be unprepared for this reaction. He stiffened, his hands squeezing her shoulders once, hard. Then, with a hurt-sounding groan, he buried his face in her hair, his arms twining about her, urging her even closer to him. Phryne pressed herself against him in unthinking response, aching softly. She rolled her hips against his hardness, keening with need, and Jack's breath hissed through his teeth as a shudder went through him from head to toe.

 A leaping flame passed between them, from one to the other, and the tremor in his arms was the quivering in  _her_  body, his strangled words were  _hers_ , and Phryne felt light-headed with vertigo. Her arms snaked about his broad shoulders, her fingers pressing bruising hard against his back, as if she were drowning and he was the only steady rock in a swirling, dangerous new world.

 His hands encircled the firmness of her breasts, both her nipples tightening immediately against his palms. Phryne gave a shiver in delicious response, which very soon changed to a whimper of pure gnawing lust when he flicked the peak of her breast with his tongue, making her gasp for air and twist up towards him in instinctive offering. Phryne smoothed her hands through his hair, her shuddering breaths urging him on to suckle her flesh greedily. 

 He bowed his head to her other nipple, lavishing attention on her. His lips scorched their way over her flesh to linger above her heart, which was shaking her with its poundings. Jack paused briefly, then when her nails dug into his shoulders in silent demand he seized her breasts and brought them together, taking both nipples into his mouth, alternately and then at once, his furious hunger making his movements savage and uncontrolled. Phryne gasped, lifting her hips, lifting herself up against his body, desperate for him to  _ **never**  stop touching her..._

 Jack's hands swept over her flat, taut stomach, worshiping the silken softness, squeezing the curve of her hip and brushing lightly over her dark curls before parting her thighs and stroking her hidden, saturated flesh so briefly that Phryne barely had time to arch into his touch. Then he raised his head and resumed kissing her lips with wild abandon, kisses that left Phryne feeling as though she were being devoured whole. She gave a choked wail, provoking a very low, uneven chuckle from Jack.

 Mentally, Phryne's eyes narrowed. Hungry for the heat of his flesh, she stroked every inch of him that she could reach, lightly, then firmly, exulting in his smooth skin under which rippled iron hard muscle. She ran her fingers over the curve of his shoulder blades, then rested her hands either side of his waist just above his trousers. She waited for him to open his eyes, held his gaze...and then her nails bit lightly into him.

 Jack rapped out a curse before darting forward and flicking his tongue over her stomach, making her jump. A sharp, deep tingle shot directly from the skin he'd touched to the hot wet place between her thighs, and Phryne was convinced that if they'd been standing up, her knees would have given out completely. She pulled him into a rough, possessive kiss, the bottom dropping out from her thoughts. He was making marvelous little needy sounds against the press of their mouths, and she felt rather helplessly that she was about to go right out of her head.

 She tore desperately at confining cloth, pressing her mouth against the base of his neck, her lips caressing the hollow of his throat as she fumbled with the fastening of his trousers, shoving them down savagely. This time he let her, and she gave a high laugh of pure joy. Jack's arms pulled around her tightly, bringing her roughly up against his chest, the better to plunder her mouth, even as he twisted and kicked his way out of his remaining clothes.

 The unrelenting heat of him suddenly,  ** _finally_**  against her thigh nearly caused her to cry out in triumph. Her body was singing, slick with a fine, burning, physical joy that was hopelessly entangled with the dangerous, deliciously thrilling emotional one.

 Every second apart from her only served to set an aching, unendurable strain on his mind, heart, body and soul. Jack growled, his breath so  _hot_  against her breast as he  _rippled_  over her, his skin sliding warm and lithe against hers, all animal tension and intent which she was panting to meet and match...he spread her legs, making her moan his name, and his grip on her thighs tightened -

 "Oh,  _yesss_ ," he bit out, in a warm guttural sound of wild triumph and he smiled a dark, delighted smile at her reaction. He looked up at her from his place between her legs, burning the sight of her into his memory. She was frantic with lust, her fingers twisted almost white in the sheets, head bent back so that he could only see her corded jaw. Raven hair was splayed out either side of her face, her flawless skin was flushed and dewy with sweat and he could  ** _see_**  the blood pounding in the hollow of her throat. Her long, lovely legs were shifting restlessly, spreading wide one moment and clasping him tightly the next, as if she couldn't decide which would prompt him to move faster.

 Wrenching her eyes open, Phryne looked down to find him watching her, his hands clasping her hips - and her breath caught on an unwilling mewl, seeing his eyes - all wicked knowledge and heated promise and gut-twisting desire - so low down on her body. Her stomach churned in anticipation, but even as her head slammed back against the pillow she mentally cursed him. 

 He was teasing her, dammit, as in control as if he really had tied her to the bed, and she was long past teasing - she wanted to burst into flames and for him to burn with her. He was taking too  _long_ and she wondered wildly whether he meant to make good on his sensual threats after all...

 What had he said? It was emblazoned onto her brain:  _I am going to make you gasp, and squirm. I am going to take my own damn time. I am going to make you **whimper**...I am going to make you  **mewl**... I am going to make you moan...I am going to wring every sob of desperate desire from those pretty lips of yours, my aggravating wild child, until you're writhing beneath me and begging me to  **take**  you, right now. And then...and then I will make you scream yourself hoarse for every single man you've taken since we met._

 She had no defiance left for that sort of game; he had brought her to the point where prolonging the sensual torture would render her completely at his mercy. So Phryne fought back in the only way she knew how.

 "Next time, Jack, darling," she managed throatily, half sitting up and reaching for him as simply as a child. "We can go slow next time. I need you inside me now."


	10. In Which Heat Becomes An Inferno

 

**In Which Heat (hopefully) Becomes An Inferno**

* * *

 

As far as methods of self-preservation go, it was a  _spectacularly_  bad idea. Jack took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring at the scent of her, and Phryne watched something inside him break at her words. Whatever his intentions might have been, he was not proof against her half plea, half command.

He rose up over her, his face one big terrible ache, and pressed himself against her solidly. Her mind lurched to a halt. He was pressing full against her, but not entering. A sublime, tormenting friction of skin on skin. Phryne's breath left her entirely, and she hung suspended, achingly silent and basking in pleasurable anticipation.

Jack gave a low, tortured groan and rocked against her, shuddering at the deliciousness of the sensation. Phryne arched her back and clutched at him, trying to bring him closer. He was so close to her,  _so close_ , but not close enough...

He bent to capture her lips. "I have  **wanted**  this," he breathed his words into her, "so long. From the first moment..."

Her heart fluttered once, almost in agony, reacting to the raw sincerity in his voice. Her breath hissed in and out and goosebumps rose on every square inch of her skin as he shifted his hips, moving a little lower, nudging against her.

He pushed in excruciatingly slowly, just one inch, then two inches. Jack fought the urge to close his eyes, and focused them instead on the woman who moved beneath him like a flame and a promise. She must have had the same thought, for he met her wide-open eyes and he could not even grasp at the emotion that flickered through them. He withdrew almost completely, and Phryne gave a soft cry of protest, gathering beneath him to try and flip them, to gain the upper hand once more.

" **No!** " Jack managed, low and hard and adamant. "Stay with me, Phryne. Please."

She obligingly collapsed beneath him, but canted her hips up towards him in imperious demand, and a muffled laugh escaped him. Surrender for her was still very much like triumph.

He cradled her face with one hand, brushing his thumb over her parted lips and falling into the depths of her eyes, while the other slipped beneath her bottom and tilted her hips higher, holding her there at his mercy.

Phryne bit her lip, her head minutely tossing from side to side in helpless need. But she would  **not**  beg. Not this time. This first time would be a coming together of equals, if she had anything to do with it. She wound one arm around his neck, and stroked the other hand down over his corded back to dig her nails into his backside, pulling him toward her. He gave a grunt of protesting pleasure, but answered her unspoken question by slowly sinking into her. Pushing in at just the right spot.

He slid inside her as easily as if he'd always belonged there. The shock of them coming together was so great that Phryne could not even gasp. It was such a blinding, visceral delight, pleasure so sharp it felt almost like pain.

Phryne brought one hand to her mouth and bit down hard on one knuckle to keep from crying out. Her other hand found Jack's hair, and knotted through it; she tugged and heard him  _growl_  deep in his throat...

Jack pushed on, not stopping until his hips fitted tightly against hers. His head fell forward to rest against her neck as he battled the urge to  ** _move_** , to take her hard, to fling them both over the abyss as soon as possible. A shudder ran through him, and he raised his head to anchor himself in her eyes once more. He kissed her, biting softly at her lower lip. Claiming her.

"Oh," Phryne said faintly, against his lips. It was a raw, naked sound, hot and fervent with longing. She wanted to speak, to plead with him to keep doing what he was doing, to never stop, but her voice seemed stuck in her throat. She groaned to loosen it, and trembled as a ripple of electricity -  _pleasure_  - shot up through her body and straight into her brain.

Then he was fucking her, thoroughly and deeply, long purposeful strokes that made her cry out from the sheer invasion of it, as if he was trying to mark her as his forever.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him, her mouth opened on a shuddering sigh of satisfaction.  **This**  is what she had wondered about and longed for,  _ **this**_  - having him inside her, his weight pressing her down into the bed as he traveled deeper inside her with each thrust, making her feel small and tamed, but at the same time a part of him, one with his body, and if he was conquering her, then she had equally conquered him...

Jack groaned at her response, altering the angle of his thrusts, coming up against her with devastating determination. Phryne's head went back and her eyes closed for a moment in reaction...deep,  _God_ , he was so far into her...

"Keep those eyes skyward, Phryne," Jack's voice rasped in her ear as he stilled inside her. "I want to see what you look like when I'm inside you."

Her eyes flew open, blazing with defiant lust, and she deliberately tightened her inner muscles around his length, one by one, to the tip. He froze for an instant, then wrapped his arms around her hips and lifted her so that only her head and shoulders were anchored to the bed. Phryne made a rough, sobbing sound as the new position brought them even tighter together.

Jack leaned over her, his eyes wide and utterly black, wild and vehement and loving her. When he moved again, he did not pull away from her, giving her relief in withdrawal, but forged on, deep and deeper. Phryne tensed underneath him, her hands clawing at him as the sensation of being impaled on his passion spiked through her.

Every motion of his body conveyed the distilled urge to get closer to her, get more of her. He kissed her as he moved relentlessly inside her, hot, breathless brushes of his lips. Her nails sank into his shoulders savagely, branding him, pressing him down on her harder. The mad raging need she felt to possess him completely, the same need she felt from him, returned in spades, was just that side of too much, and she whimpered - half in alarm, half in desperate longing.

"Yes," he urged her thickly, and her heart contracted viciously as the familiar, yet totally new consuming sensation began to build low in her abdomen. In her incoherent state, she barely recognized the  _something_  that was approaching to crash over her, something more intense and exquisitely painful than anything she remembered living through.

"That's it," she heard him murmur. "Don't hold back - come for me, Phryne -  _scream_  for me..." He was staring down into her eyes, his breath rasping in his chest, his teeth bared as he stroked her, inside and out, with deadly intent.

He withdrew completely, and Phryne had no time even to sob in protest before she was crying out at the sudden sensation of being ** _filled_**  again as he thrust into her, catching her face between adamant fingers.

"Come  _with_  me -" Jack licked and bit at her ear as he snarled into it - "Come  _hard_ , Phryne -" he thrust with his words as he did with his body - "Give me this. Give me yourself - _come_  with me."

A searing white flare of joy burned up from her abdomen, and Phryne mewled, her body flailing as everything turned to heat and sensation and madness, and Jack was above her and all around her and within her -

His motions turned rougher, more desperate, giving her no respite. She arched up to meet the slamming of his body against hers, and he suddenly shifted and moved his hips just  ** _so_** , and she  _shrieked_  against the soft press of his lips - their mutual need blazed and melded and seemed to reach completion simultaneously, and their bodies froze and strained against each other -

\- and the world exploded, and Phryne fell, fell through the back of her skull like a shooting star, body arched and incandescent and seared through with sensation, choking out his name over and over again in a litany of helpless whimpering as she came, her heart straining unbearably against her chest as if it would never recover.

Jack reacted similarly to the sound of his name on her lips, thrusting violently into her again with a strangled moan, shuddering and gasping as if he'd been mortally wounded. 

He clutched her to him desperately as he poured himself out inside her, her name a hurt-sounding groan on his lips against her hair, and Phryne cried out again as his desire filled her, sating her flesh and for a moment, at least, binding her to him, and him to her, body and soul.


End file.
